Her prurient interests were directly served by the idea that Patrick felt something beyond pastoral concern for her soul and friendly concern for her health and safety. It certainly put his anger at the kid who had almost mowed her down in context.
Sasha liked the idea that she was precious to him. She tossed and turned for at least an hour, knowing that if she could relieve the ache between her legs, she might get a few hours of sleep before she had to be up and out the door for the baby shower that she and Hannah had planned tomorrow.
But she couldn’t get the idea of Patrick treating her like a precious doll out of her mind. That maybe the image of his benevolent gaze after he’d saved her from getting hit by the car wasn’t about saving her from the fires of hell. That he was going to dive into them with her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT TIME SASHA came to see him—and he’d started thinking of it as coming to see him—he put product in his hair. He tried not to think about what that meant in terms of his vows, but it meant something and sat on his conscience.
He’d told himself that it was about the baptism that he needed to perform that morning. Jemma’s wife, Marie, wasn’t a member of the Church anymore because of the teachings on LGBTQ+ issues, but Patrick wanted to make them feel as welcome as he could, given his lowly position. It might get him in trouble, but it wasn’t like the bishop would really do anything about it. He hadn’t done anything but give Patrick a stern talking to before.
Besides, the Church couldn’t afford to lose a priest over something as innocuous as baptizing a newborn—no matter who that newborn’s parents were. He’d also performed their backyard wedding ceremony, but no one in the Church or at St. Bart’s knew about that. Sister Cortona might suspect, but it was one instance in which she cut him some slack and didn’t bust his chops.
Thank God.
Sasha and Hannah came in toward the end of the ceremony and sat in the back pew. Jemma held out her infant over the baptismal font for Patrick to perform the sacrament. Just some holy water and a few words and all the stain of sin wouldn’t be able to touch this little guy anymore.
He’d performed the rite hundreds of times, but this time he was a bit self-conscious about it and he flubbed a few of the words. “I baptize you in the name of the—uh—Father, the Son, and the—uh—Holy Spirit.”
It seemed fitting that his memory went wonky on the Holy Trinity when Sasha entered the room. But he had a job to do, and he would do it.
The fact that Jemma and her wife trusted him with their baby’s spiritual life was the reason he stayed. Patrick knew that the bishop—his boss—and a lot of his fellow priests in the diocese weren’t willing to baptize the children of LGBTQ+ couples, which was probably why Patrick had many members of the community as parishioners and the bigoted priests in the diocese didn’t.
Patrick knew the catechism back and forth. He knew all of the rules, and he followed most of them. But he’d also been raised to always do what was right, even when it was against the rules. And—despite the pope’s oblique references to a more inclusive Church that the other officials at the Vatican tended to walk back—the Catholic Church’s official position on LGBTQ+ issues was flat-out silly. Looking down at baby Sullivan, he could no more deny him the sacrament and blessing of baptism than he could quit breathing.
It was one of the reasons that he’d stayed in the Church once he’d started to suspect that his vocation wasn’t truly authentic. If he left, who would minister to the families in his parish in the way that they deserved? The bishop would probably replace him with some ultra-conservative prick who would preach homilies to increasingly empty pews.
And he might even fire Jemma because of the stupid “morality” clause in all the contracts that employees of the Church had to sign.
When he handed Sullivan to his teary-eyed and joyful godparents and they promised to protect him from hell—which Patrick knew existed here on Earth even as he had doubts about the meaningful threat of an afterlife—he felt more filled with purpose than he had in a long while.
Even when Sasha and Hannah filed into the last pew.
He was scheduled to meet with them after the baptism and discuss details for the fundraiser. Even though the timing was bad, he’d filled Jemma in on the financial situation with the pre-K program. She’d agreed to chat with Sasha and Hannah at the reception after the ceremony. They had an entire sheet cake, after all, and Jemma’s wife wasn’t keen on bringing most of it home.
After the mass, he found Sasha and Hannah chatting in the vestibule. His best friend’s wife greeted him with a huge smile and warm hug. Even though they could not be more different, he and Hannah had gotten along immediately. Patrick thought it might have something to do with the fact that they were the only two people on Earth who had no problem telling Jack Nolan that he was completely full of shit.
Sasha smiled at him, but no hug. That was probably better for both of them. “Hi, Patrick.”
He liked the sound of her saying his name far too much. A lump formed in his throat, and he nodded at both of them. “Jemma and Marie know you’re coming.”
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Sasha asked, even though he’d assured her it was fine three or four times via text. “We really don’t want to intrude on their celebration.”
“Jemma is really invested in this program. She built it from the ground up.” Marie was a high-powered lawyer at a law firm downtown, so they would be fine financially regardless. Still, the kids were important to Jemma, and Jemma was important to Marie. “And there’s plenty of cake.”
Sasha’s eyes got a little wide. “The grocery-store kind with super-sweet buttercream?”
“No other kind.”
They went into the atrium, where Jemma and Marie’s family and friends had gathered. Jemma spotted them and handed off baby Sullivan to one of his grandparents, who accepted the infant eagerly.
She rushed over to them. “Have you had cake?” Jemma walked them over to the refreshments table, where Sister Cortona was cutting into the positively giant sheet cake.
“I have no idea why you got this much cake for a smattering of people,” Sister Cortona grumbled. “And goodness knows your wife is going to stick me and Father Patrick with the leftovers. Neither of us will be able to fit through the rectory doors.”
Jemma laughed. “That’s because you’ve never seen my family eat cake before. And I’m sure we can find a good home for the leftovers that isn’t yours or mine.”
“You should freeze that corner piece.” Sasha pointed to one of the flowers that hadn’t been cut into. The frosting flowers had always been her favorite. “And keep it for when you want to celebrate something in Sullivan’s life. Or a day when he’s really driving you up a wall.”